


Madness

by tigersilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Diagon Alley, Fluff, M/M, PDA, Pubes, public intoxication, puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24766600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersilver/pseuds/tigersilver
Summary: A desperate search for contraception all around Diagon Alley.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 36
Collections: HD Wireless 2020





	Madness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladderofyears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/gifts), [bafflinghaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/gifts).



> Prompt #104 for ladderofyears  
> Song prompt: Madness, House of Fun  
> Link to YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJ2X9SANsME  
> Many thanks to the wonderful Mods, to L, and to B, who had a bit of faith and whom I didn't want to disappoint. Cheers!

“Bloody. Fucking. Merlin’s ballsack. Onna on a swizzle stick,” Draco spat out succinctly, as he and Harry exited the Leaky with a reel and a stagger. “Dishgraceful!” 

“Posshbly,” Harry acknowledged, genially bumping shoulders. “Or, you know…you know?” 

He flung a wild arm down the direction of Diagon Alley, colours already dimming in the twilight of a late summer’s eve. Only a few sconces and street lamps were just twinkling on to guide the way. But there was still a hum of bustle down the distance, for the weather was fine and dry, and Hogwarts was due to reopen soon. 

“I know? Know what?” Malfoy demanded, brow creasing. He peevishly stared down Diagon and then at Harry. “What’re you even saying? Do you know something I don't?”

“Not actually saying anything,” Harry replied. "Really." He petted Malfoy’s arm soothingly. “C’mon,” he said, blinking to adjust his vision between the halo-ed blare of streetlamps and the dim of the darker corners of Diagon. “This way.” 

It was a very twisty Alley and always had been. Wizards, Harry had decided long ago, absolutely abhorred the simple and easy. No such thing as a straight line for them. They were much better pleased by the fun-house puzzle of it. 

“Oo, err, bollocks,” he swore under his breath, arriving at a halt before the old familiar chemists shop near the pubhouse. Sadly, the awnings were done up tight and the interior gone dark. "Brilliant." He glanced over at his companion, who'd sauntered up with a rollicking easy gait at his elbow and was looking enquiring. “Bloody ‘Pothecary’s shut. Let's try somewhere else, yeah?” 

“Bloody fucking lousy luck. We’re fucking _Wizards_ , Potter," Malfoy declared, bridling, rolling his eyes at the shut up shop in a very pronounced fashion. "Don’ acktually need to be doin’ this, no matter _what_ Granger--”

“Malfoy.” Harry reached over and pinched Malfoy’s forearm. Not nastily but in a decidedly chiding manner. “You _said_ you would,” he said, sharpish. “ _Swore_ , even.” 

“Oh...So I did. Pah!" Draco set his thin lips thinner and assayed a prim nod, consenting to be strolled in somewhat orderly fashion down the Alley under the guidance of Harry’s groping hand on his elbow. "Right, right, carry on then. Far be it from me to countersay Granger, Potter." 

"Too right," Harry nodded. "Pity Tom didn’t have ‘em,” he remarked as they turned away. He eyed his companion sideways and from beneath his lashes, uncertain all at once now they'd been disappointed in their quest twice over. “A, er, box of balloons? Casts a damper and all that, right?” 

“Issa fucking pub, Harry!” Malfoy rolled his eyes again, so severely he crossed them. “Got rooms to let by the hour, what? You should be able to pro-pro-pur _-buy_ fucking Muggle con _doms_ in a _public house_ , Harry--any old pub, even Wizzharding! What _is_ the world coming to, anyway? Think they’d never heard of ‘safe sex’ before now. March with the times, I say!” 

“Mmm, hmm-mm,” Harry murmured, not paying much mind as he very carefully steered the way past a tiny boutique that sold hats, only hats, all sorts. Was spilling over with bowlers, trilbys and cloches; enormous racks of ingeniously bedecked millinery and classic chapeux, but clearly not those particular ‘party hats’ appropriate for his and Draco’s particular _head_ needs at the moment. “Not there. Right, this way, I think.” 

“Honestly, Potter,” Malfoy griped, swooping his head down and treating Harry to a faceful of Ogden’s vapours. “Issa a lost cause, it is.” 

“Er…” Harry mumbled, cogitating. Or trying to. "Ah?" The little Charm he’d cast in the Leaky’s loo to give himself a window through the fumes of mulberry wine, Malfoy's Superior and several generous shots of Gillywater was fading. “Um.” 

He peered back over his shoulder at the old Apothecary but it was still closed up tight shut and no lights; no magical change there, then. He shrugged; that would’ve been the obvious place, right? Well, no help for it. A thought struck him, causing him to halt in his tracks. He tugged at Malfoy’s arm, as the poor sodden bloke blindly carried on forward. 

“No, waitaminute! Isn’t there some sort of weird shagging shop on Knockturn? ‘Loosey’s’, was it? I seem to remember…” He trailed off, looking hopefully up at Malfoy. "They sold gadgets." 

“No. No, no, no.” Draco shook his head carefully, clearly making an effort to keep up. “Not Lucy’s. It was Knob’s. Knob’s Knackeries. Only takes post owl orders since the war ended, that place. Maybe s’not even open for that anymore.” He shrugged, frowning. “The buggers turned my last Owl away, just last week. Shattering, it was.” Shoulders slumping abruptly, a mournful expression settled upon his pale, handsome, still-pointy face. “Was looking forward, too.” 

“Oi! Didn’t even know _we_ were gonna shag last week,” Harry protested, vaguely aggrieved. “What’d you want Muggle condoms for _then_?”

“Oh, er.” Malfoy clammed up and looked shifty. “As to that…I didn't. Per'zactly. Want those.” 

“Huh,” Harry sniffed, turning his head sharply away from his offender. “You don’t say.” 

He scanned the street scene. There were all manner of shops lined up down Diagon, some new and some old, and some which touted fashionably new Mugglish oddments but not one of those were in the business of hawking regular old mundane rubbers. Quality Quidditch was next up on the sidewalk, its interior well lit and still a'bustle, but they weren’t likely. Harry considered WWW briefly, frowning. George had been recently toying with a new catalog of what he laughingly termed ‘X-Whizzes’. Meant for a 'more mature audience, Harry', he'd said, sporting a disreputable grin.

Mind made up, or at least lurching in that general direction, Harry stepped forward, giving Malfoy a jerk on the arm, and dragged him on past QQ. He shot an accusing glare at him. His ire (and the green-eyed monster that lurked in his chest cavity, sometimes) had not quite subsided.

“Now, look here. Who were _you_ shagging last week, Malfoy? Or thinking of shagging. ‘Cause it’s not been me, clearly. Not-fucking-me! So it's gotta be somebody--stands to reason!” 

“Ulp!” Malfoy looked simultaneously supremely guilt-stricken and highly offended. His nose rose. He looked on the verge of stomping a foot on the pavers. “Fucking Merlin, Potter. Nobody! I swear it!” 

“Prick. You wanted to, though,” Harry growled, not leaving go of Malfoy's arm for a moment. "Knob's sells sex stuff, right?" He glared at an innocent shopfront in passing. “Leering like that tonight and then ogling me all over, like some--some meat slab. But maybe there was somebody else you had your filthy eye on? Last week?” 

“No, I didn’t! I wasn't! I wouldn’t! How _dare_?!”

It was Draco this occasion who halted them both abruptly, skidding to a hard stop and causing Harry’s feet to tangle his balance and pitch him off-kilter. Draco grabbed at Harry's shoulder, glaring down his aquiline proboscis, swiping at the tip of it with a careless hand and resembling nothing so much as a highly offended Great White heron.

“What?” Harry snapped, truly irked. He got his feet under him and contemplated the pleasure he might find biffing Malfoy on the chin. But briefly. That wanker was still famously fit, damn his eyes and their piercing glint. “The fuck, Malfoy?” 

“Puh-lease, you madman!" Malfoy widened his eyes, possibly trying to gain sympathy. "Fucking wanted some _lube_ , Potter. You know that Charmed-up shite’s never as good as the cauldron-brewed. Unlike some I could mention, I happen to have a care for my willy.” 

"Uh...huh," Harry allowed, feeling less inclined to swipe and more inclined to snog. 

Malfoy bared his teeth in a charmingly engaging but predatory manner and slid his arm around Harry’s shoulders, urging him closer. It seemed rather natural, really. Despite them being stood in the middle of the Alley. 

“‘Sides, you know I’ve been gagging after your arse and cock for ages. Yours and only yours, you suspicious bastard. I've said as much at least thrice tonight and I'd've thought what happened in the loo would've comvinced you.” 

“Oh. Well,” Harry smiled up at him, instantly appeased. “That's all right then.” 

“I should say so,” Draco sniped, transferring his smokey gaze down at the cobbles. He kicked at one spitefully. “Git. Wanna shag _you_ , not some random bloke. Can’t believe you’d ever think otherwise.”

“That’s good.” Harry relaxed, grinning freely, the gillywater in his bloodstream providing that little extra fillip of easy forgiveness and good cheer. He gave Draco’s arm a little conciliatory pat and attempted to do a spot of adhoc leering and ogling of his own. “I like that very much, you saying it. Been fancying you a bit for years now.” He giggled, shrugging. “You know, when I wasn’t thinking about hexing you.” 

“Ahem! ‘Years’, you say? R-Really?” Draco, clearly startled, brightened right up and somehow gained several proud inches. “Huh! Well, then. All _I_ can say is.” 

Bemused, Harry watched as Malfoy’s usual air of brilliant self-assurance descended like a golden cloak upon him, causing his light eyes to spark and his famous lint-white Malfoy hair to glint appealingly in the reflected light thrown from the street sconces and shop windows. 

“Is?” Harry prompted, quite intrigued. “You were saying?” 

Malfoy elevated that easily offended nose, incidentally exposing his manly throat, his eyes sparkling with ill-suppressed glee. 

“I’m saying that of course you have, Potter! I am, in fact, stu- _pen-_ dously fit.”

“Stupendously an _arse_ , you mean,” Harry snorted, offhandedly admiring how Malfoy was only slurring a smidgeon. A random passerby would have no clue he was still mostly pissed to the gills. "Stupendously a wanker, really."

"Hey!!" But Malfoy smiled, all the same. "You like it." 

The man could drink a fish under the table. He and Harry had, in fact, both inhaled a whole slew of 'fish', sitting at one of Tom’s more intimate tables, way in the back of the Leaky, and consequently had finally each built up the courage to admit aloud--in the privacy of the loo, jammed in a stall, hands down each other’s pants and both slightly slobbery and red-cheeked with lust--that they were stupidly horny for one another and aching for the chance to do something about it. 

“I somehow do, Merlin help me. Beastly wanker,” Harry confirmed fondly, adrift in happy reverie--until he remembered abruptly what had happened next. “Oh. Oh, fuck.” 

Harry had mentioned protection. Condoms. Those Muggle ones, specifically. The sort that were entirely unmagical and not exactly scattered about for the taking on Wizarding High Street shopping district. 

“Don’ wanna be a wanker, Potter,” Draco returned smartly with a jaunty grin. “Want to be a shagger. A shaggee, even. That’s the whole point of this, right?” 

He glanced down his front, wafting a long-fingered paw at his crotch area, appearing somewhat miffed at the bulge ruining the line of his trousers. 

“Bah! A pox on everlasting abstinence, Potter; it bloody well hurts like the dickens, my poor pecker. So, erm. Tell me?” His brow crinkled, fine brows drawing together. “Are we now just simply giving up? On the con-doms bit, I mean. I do hope _not_ the shagging bit. Because we _are_ Wizards.” He waggled his eyebrows pruriently. “And being, ah, Magical, right? Just, erm. Saying. In case you’ve forgotten. I know you do, sometimes.” 

“No! No, no we are _not_!" Visited all at once by the tremendously alarming vision of Hermione's face were he ever to confess to unprotected acts of sexual congress, Harry gasped aloud. "Merlin, no! Come along, then. Forward, ho!” 

Feeling a sudden and vast resurgence of the ardour which had propelled them both out on the street in search of plastic protection for their pricks and no small amount of borrowed guilt for even considering the idea of getting his end away without a proper impermeable barrier, Harry started them up trotting down Diagon’s uneven cobbles again. 

“Fine, that's the spirit! Never give up! ‘Ho’ it is!” Malfoy cried out, surging forward, carried along willy nilly by Harry’s momentum and rising good spirits. “All the ‘ho’s’, all of ‘em!” 

"Brilliant!"

But.

Unfortunately there was nowhere obvious to go next.

Diagon had not meanwhile sprouted a Muggle chemists in the interim, sadly. Nor even another Wizarding sex shop. This didn't faze Malfoy one bit. He stared about expectantly, striding faster. Possibly using that nose of his to sniff the air, searching out the smell of Muggle latex, who knew? 

“Hold up! Merlin, but you are an idiot sometimes. Slow up a bit, will you? Mind the bloody kerb. It's just there.”

Sighing, Harry snagged Malfoy's arm and settled down his pace by dint of stomping firmly on the cobbles. He reached a sly hand ‘round that poker-straight back and gave a teasing little slap-and-pat on that plump, tight bum, just to distract the man further. His lips twitched in barely kettled glee; he really couldn’t resist the prod, especially when Malfoy turned his head and handed Harry a seriously hairy eyeball.

"Oi, what was that for?" 

“But you are, though. You know? A bit beastly.”

“Oh, am I? Beast between the sheets is more like, Potter.” Malfoy chuckled, appreciative of his own joke. He grinned at Harry, apparently all good with letting bygones be gone and deliberately nudged his arse cheek into Harry's fondling fingers, rubbing it about like a crup wishing to be petted. “Bet you wish I’ll prove it, too. Don’t you? You do, right?” 

“I sincerely hope you will, yes,” Harry nodded fervently, giving into the need to grip and fondle the bum cheek he’d just slapped. “I _do._ ”

It was all rounded and lovely and he really wanted to be touching it from a naked and horizontal perspective. But without a bloody Muggle condom, it simply wasn't on.

“I...just don’t know when it’ll happen, damn it. Looking a bit grim, right now. But it won't help a bit if we go breaking our necks on the bloody street." 

“No, it shan't,” Draco sighed disconsolately, consenting silently to wander off again, this time at a slower gait. “And me neither.” 

“Come on, then. We can't give up now.” Harry tried for a cheery tone but it was clear neither of them were feeling so sanguine at the moment. 

“So?” Malfoy asked after what seemed a quite inordinately lengthy amount of minutes spent semi-artfully dodging the little knot of late-night shoppers and stragglers gathered outside Fortescue’s, recently reopened by the poor man’s distant cousin from Lithuania. Or France. Who knew? He almost bumped straight into Harry, who’d come to an uncertain halt below a flickering street lamp one door down from the ice cream shop. “Why'd you stop us again? Did you want to go back for an ice lolly? Or shall we keep searching out your rubber what'sit’s out before I change my mind? ‘Cause I could do, you suspicious slut, you.” 

He stuck up an accusing eyebrow at Harry’s blank look. “‘Slut’?” Harry mouthed back at him, confused. 

“You know?” Draco shrugged, lips twisting. He seemed both glum still and irked; quite like a broody Great White Heron. “All I really wanted from Knob’s was some decent slick for a simple wank all by my lonesome self, last week. Didn't even consider you might want to shag, Harry, much less shag me; how was I ever to know that, anyway? So. Casting aspersions like that, it’s too cruel.” He tutted. “And highly uncalled for, git. As if I would ever! Malfoys aren't slags, you know.” 

“Not a git,” Harry protested, incidentally steering them down a little side alley.

Their pace wavered; Ogden’s was a potent brew and not to be trifled with. Gillywater, too. Truly the Devil's Snare!

“Um. Not a slut, me. Not ‘random’, either. Er--mind that! Sorry!” 

“ _Me_ mind? No! Merlin, _you_ mind where you’re bloody well going, next time. This is a dead-end. That." He pointed out the feature suddenly right before their respective faces. "That, right there? That is a wall. Er, what?” Malfoy asked querulously, patently distracted by the claustrophobic atmosphere and the lingering odour of something foul. “Were you saying? No, of course not. I don't, Harry. I was just teasing you, alright? Bloody let’s turn around, shall we?” 

He shoved a hand off the imposing brick-face and spun about on a heel, carrying Harry along with him perforce, and aimed them back toward the beckoning shop lights and subdued street noises. Latched onto Harry's hand as they spilled back onto the street.

"That's better." 

"Much. It's not dark anymore," Harry observed, blinking. "Or rank. Thanks, Malfoy." 

“Right, much better,” Draco smiled. “Dark back there--very not good. Um. You what now? You were rubbishing on about not being a git or some such. Just now.” 

“Merlin, listen, will you?" Harry, mostly unfazed by their short side trip, was very much more entirely preoccupied by the possibility of Malfoy’s thinking he was somehow having him on. Leading him on, rather. Or just stupidly hesitating, like a bloody coward. Which he wasn’t, not really. At all, ever! 

“I’m not! And you--you’re not!” 

“I am!” Draco yipped, yanking Harry out of the way of an oncoming wild-eyed youth on an ill-kempt broom, possibly nicked. “Too! Listening! Look out!” 

“No, you look out, Malfoy. Like, do you even know me?” Harry demanded, stumbling to halt before Wiseacre's. Which was also closed, but no matter. 

He glared up at Draco, who infuriatingly enough only nodded, grimacing politely at some shopper intent on warily circling about them, and then hastily dragged Harry off again, though a little less pell-mell than before. 

“‘Course I know you,” Malfoy snapped, crossly eyeing up the front of the _Daily Prophet_ and shaking his head over it. “You’re Potter. Duh! Come on, will you?” 

“Right, I’m Harry,” Harry insisted firmly. He elbowed Draco for emphasis. “Harry Potter. And I don’ bother much with the romancing bit, not me. Just ask Gin; she’ll tell you. Not a tease, either. Not a ‘shagaholic’, no matter what that stupid bint Skeeter keeps printing up in her stupid gossip column! That was all them, the papers, making shite up out of whole cloth. Excepting the _Quibbler_ , of course. Luna would never.”

“Right, right,” Draco agreed, nodding, a militant light in his gaze as he determinedly led them past Potage’s, Scribbulus and Rosa Lee in short order. “No, no, she never would. I’m all ears, Potter. Carry on?” 

“Just.” Harry blinked vaguely at the upcoming twin bows window of Ollivanders, recalling the many, many times his best mate had gone off about the horrors of unsafe shagging. “Hermione said no sex without Muggle condoms, alright? She said it a lot, Draco.” He nodded his chin firmly at the memories, acknowledging her ongoing fervour. “All the time, really. At least whenever I mentioned you, that is.”

“Alright, alright. M’not carping over it, Harry, not really--oh, whoops, sorry! S’cuse us, please,” Draco said hurriedly, jerking them both out of the path of a very harried Witch rapidly wheeling a wailing perambulator. “Sorry!” he called after her.

But she paid them both no mind, not even turning her head as momentum sent them staggered back against a stretch of shop wall and bouncing not-so gently off. The rattling sound of the perambulator wheels faded off into the evening’s distance.

"Why're there people, Potter? So many people. They should all just go home." 

“Oi!” Harry muttered, nursing his bruised elbow. “Bloody ouch, Draco. Hurts.” 

“M’sorry.” 

“S’alright,” Harry shrugged. He looked about them, noticing they’d advanced a rather considerable way down Diagon since the last unscheduled pause. It was darker, certainly, with fewer of the street lamps lit. It also wasn’t a part of Diagon he normally paid much attention to. He turned back to his companion and cocked a curious eyebrow. 

“Er, why’ve we stopped here? You think they sell condoms at Obscurus, Draco? It’s a book shop!” 

“Sorry,” Draco mumbled, eyeing Harry’s unbuttoned collar with interest. “No, no, of course I don’t.” 

He glanced around; there was a definite lull in foot traffic, given that the book shop was shut up tight for the night. In fact, there were only a few places with their doors still open and lamps lit. All the while his hand was reaching in Harry’s direction, a forefinger unerringly coming to rest just at the exposed base of his throat. 

“Hmm. Er, mind if I? I just need to--you don't mind if I? Ah!”

“--what?!--” 

Draco lunged for it, Harry’s neck, no bloody warning at all, mouth open and slurping his way up Harry’s throat like it was a particularly tasty lolly and then sticking his wet tongue right in Harry’s ear. He fastened a set of delicately questing teeth upon Harry’s earlobe like a bloody lamprey, biting ever so gently and groaning low and feral. His clutchy-grabby fingers found Harry’s shoulders and hung on tight. 

“Mmmm! Muah,” he mouthed softly, inarticulately. But there was no mistaking the meaning! “Mmhmmph.” 

“Eeep!” Harry squawked, jumping crabwise in startlement. “Fucking vampire! We’re in the middle of the street, you fool! Stop trying to eat me!” 

“Mmm, sorry, sorry, but so--so very hungry for you,” Draco murmured, reluctantly pulling away. “Just a nibble, Harry, that’s all it was...a love bite?” He quirked a brow appealing but Harry was unmoved. "A nip." 

“That was a chomp, Malfoy!” Harry protested, awkwardly rubbing at his neck to get the saliva off. It tingled yet and he did his best to ignore the responding lift-and-twitch from his dick. “A definite chomp!” 

Unrepentant, Malfoy pursed his lips at Harry, going all quizzical and slit-eyed. 

“But you _like_ it when I do that, Potter. You said as much, earlier. And we’ve stopped again, haven’t we? Why do we always seem to stop?” 

He shrugged lackadaisically, giving off the strong impression of a person battered by Life’s vagaries and rolled his bleary eyes in a way that conveyed the opinion that Harry’s fending him off was vastly unfair, completely unexpected, totally unfounded and therefore should be considered inhumanely cruel, given the circumstances. 

"I'm weary of always stopping. You keep telling me to go, and then complain of it when I do and stop us again, Potter. What's with that?" 

"Oh!" Harry gritted his teeth at him. “Stop that!” 

“So,” Malfoy continued, pointedly not stopping. “Why not? Nothing else has happened, has it? We’re not--I mean, at least _I’m_ not; don’t know about you, but.” He glanced down his front, squinting at the unmistakable bump in his trouser’s front. “Ahhhh, there it is. Hmm, still rigid. Right, may as well at least have a snog if we're stopping. Am I right?” 

“No! No, you are not! Because we have to find us some condoms, remember?” 

Harry set his jaw sternly, speaking rapidly and through tightly clenched teeth. He rather wanted to biff the git; he also very much wanted to shag him. In any event, he couldn’t do either whilst they were standing about on the street! 

“Can’t do the thing till we have them, remember? Condoms, sheaths, willy wrappers, French Ticklers--whatever! Gotta keep on, Draco. _Remember?_ ” 

“I _do_ remember!” Draco’s eyes narrowed; he flapped both hands wildly. “And I remember that I promised you and I also remember that we’re in a fucking Wizarding place, Harry, and condoms are not bloody likely here! Your point is?” 

“Hah!” Harry stamped his foot. “My point is--my point is!” 

Frustrated, Harry spun away, out of words entirely, for Malfoy was likely entirely correct and there was no hope of buying a packet of sheaths anywhere on Diagon--what had Harry even been thinking, leading them there anyway? Should have Apparated straight to Tesco’s, damn it to Merlin! But here they were still and somewhat annoyingly committed now, having wandered bothersomely far enough away from the Leaky so as to make it a royal pain in the bum to return to the portal through to Muggle London. 

Besides, he and Malfoy weren’t exactly sober. A quick peek over his shoulder gave him a glimpse of Malfoy gently swaying on his heels, though there wasn’t the slightest of breezes. 

“Faugh!” Harry muttered, and stared down the remainder of Diagon in a challenging manner. If there weren’t fucking condoms to be had, maybe he could demand some shopkeep Transfigure up a decent replica? “Why’re are you so fucking maddening, Malfoy?” 

“Excuse _me_? Aren’t _you_ forgetting something, Potter?” 

Magically, mysteriously, and in that slithering, slinky way he had, Malfoy had meanwhile slipped ‘round and now stood before Harry, looking quite displeased. 

“This wasn’t my idea,” Malfoy said flatly, jabbing the same finger at Harry that only moments before had caressed his throat with the gentlest of touches. “I only wanted--I mean, I always wanted--and then you said--and what was I supposed to do, anyway? How am I the one who’s ‘maddening’? I think it’s you just don’t want to! You’ve gone and changed your mind, haven’t you?” 

Ahead, several illuminated shop signs beckoned and the imposing edifice of Gringotts hove mightily marble, patronized by a number of latecomers and go-ers. A couple of miscellaneous passers-by glared balefully at Harry and Draco, pointedly making their way around the two of them where they stood, taking up all the narrow walkway. Harry and Draco never noticed, intent upon one another. 

“What?!” Harry’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “No!” 

“Yes, Pot-ter?” Draco hands shot out and he gripped at Harry’s upper arms. “Spit it out then. Whatever it is you have to say to me. I can take it, I assure you. But if this is all just some twisted game you and Granger have--” 

“It’s not, I swear it’s not!” 

“You’re certain?”

“Very certain!”

“Then what, Harry? I just want to snog, that’s all. Shaggings by no means the only thing I want to do to you, you know? Snoggings nearly as good as. And if you don’t want to even do that now, then why?”

“Oh, stop, just stop. It’s not that! Damn it, Draco,” Harry sighed, catching up Malfoy’s flailing hands and dragging him closer. He stared up at him, focusing on the downturn of those lips, the little crease on the side of the pale cheek, the slightly rumpled collar and even the lingering odour of Ogden’s. Beneath that there was the smell of man, of Draco, and Harry wanted it, rubbed all over him, as fiercely as ever. 

“I swear to you I’m not trying to get out of it, alright? I meant it when I told you I’ve been fancying you. And I don’t blame you a bit for not wanting to wear a Muggle thing on your dick when we do it, okay?” 

“Merlin.” Draco shook his head instantly. “S’not that. It’s not as though I don’ wanna wear the things, Harry.” 

Draco let go of Harry’s arms, only to catch him round the waist and gather him in for a wobbly one-armed embrace instead. They bumped foreheads, by accident and then more softly, on purpose, setting Harry’s specs askew. Not that he minded it. 

“It was never _that_. It’s just I want you something awful--my bollocks, they bloody well hurt with it. My pecker _aches_ , Potter. S’bad, it is. Pardon me if I’m too overeager.” 

“Yeah, alright.” Harry nodded, enjoying the feel of Draco’s body pressed all up his front. And also Draco’s thrusting knee, which was insisting on inserting itself between Harry’s thighs. “I get it. It’s not as though you’re alone in that, git.” 

“S’okay wi’me, really it is,” Draco continued softly, edging them back up against the conveniently close shop wall. “S’all good, sticking rubber sheaths on our bits. I’m a fan, I am. Just--just? Could we just get off, you know? In the meantime? Hands--hands are nice. I like hands, Harry. Doesn’t need be full on, is all I’m saying. But I’ve been having a hard time of it, walking. With you next to me, see.” 

“You say this,” Harry said doubtfully, burrowing his nose into the hollow of Draco’s throat. “But…what if we keep on and do it, just hands like you said, and then--then? We do it and it’s all messy and there’s spew and it gets into--into places it shouldn’t? Hermione _said_ , Draco.” 

“Yes, I know she did!” He frowned intently at Harry’s upturned face, and bit out his syllables with obvious care. “Danger--with a capital ‘D’! You! You up and bloody well _died_ and whatnot, right? Deceased, Harry! An’ me? I was Cruciatused till my bollocks near fell off!” 

He winced briefly; Harry shuddered right along with him in silent sympathy, instinctively clutching him closer.

“Fuck, yeah! It’s a bloody miracle straight from Merlin himself I still have ‘em to want you with, isn’t it? So, yes, certainly, what she says is right. Isn’t it nearly always, with her? Stands to reason we’re at risk. All that Dark shite, all around our privates, all those years--faugh! Swirling, sticking like--like glue, Potter. Getting in crannies and crevices.” He shuddered. “Urgh! Gives me the willies to think of it.”

“Yes, so she said,” Harry nodded sapiently, trying to keep from stumbling as Draco walked them backwards. “Lots’sa times. Uh-huh. Oops!” 

“Bah! Disgusting, it is!” Draco swept an arm up and out in a wide wheeling circle, slamming the flat of his hand against the wall they’d fetched up against with a painful slapping sound. “I hate the idea, Harry, but yes, alright. Granger’s bloody correct, and we can’t just--we can’t. We should have some extra protection, yeah. Muggle protection, if that’s what’s needed. Shite gets in your bloodstream, you know? Dark matter, nasty intentions, wanna do bad things even when you don’t really want to, see?” 

“Don’t I know it,” Harry grumbled. He hugged Draco harder, recalling those instances. “Don’t I bloody well know it.” 

“But!” Draco carried on, giving Harry a little shake and accidentally sending them both dipping sideways. “S’alright! I can manage, I swear, even if we don’t find any con-doms tonight. I’ll keep it in, I’ll keep holding it. I’ll just think very hard on really sad shite, like the war and like Professor Burbage--oh, buggerall! Merlin, but _that’s_ a real cock-shrinker, right there. Ouch.”

“Right--no, Draco!” Harry shook his head so hard his glasses righted themselves. “Enough! That's too much, right there.”

“Yes, alright,” Draco nodded, lips rueful. He managed a smile under Harry’s watchful eye. “My bad, yeah. I’ll make it work, though, somehow, so don’t worry your head over it. And, Harry, we’ll get ‘em--the con-doms. If not tonight, then tomorrow. We’ll find the what’sits. Muggle stuff is all the rage now.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Still. Gotta be something like con-doms somewhere along Diagon. We’re all bloody Wizards; we should be able to magick up pretty much anything Mugglish if we want to, right? Maybe go down Carkitt Market or Horizont? We’ve not tried there. Or possibly--possibly Wheeze’s? Even that place way down at the end--the other apothecary? The not-so-good one, you know of it, Harry.” 

“Yeah, maybe Wheeze’s will have ‘em. More than one, too. A whole packet.” Harry straightened up, discreetly adjusting himself, and pressed a quick reassuring kiss against Draco’s jaw. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised at all if that’s what George meant by his silly blabberings on. Selling Wizards Muggle chemist's wares at twice on offer would be just exactly up _his_ alley. Laughing his arse off all the way to his vault at Gringott’s, probably.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed, nodding wisely. “Smart bloke, he is. Very Slytherin-ish. But--we should keep looking, right? Since we don’t dare snog.” 

“Bollocks. Right. That.” 

Harry took a gander around them, peering past Draco’s shoulder to do it. Diagon seemed suddenly very long and very convoluted and he cursed the fact that Hermione’s voice was yet stuck firm in his head, harping on about fearsome communicable diseases and the debilitating horrors of lingering Dark Curses. Plus bloody ‘particles’ and ‘inexplicable Dark Urges’. 

“Gah.” He gritted his teeth and stepped forward, slinging an arm around Draco’s waist as he went. “Right, we can’t just hang about and talk about it. Let’s just do this. Keep walking. You’ve not got the only stiffie here on the block, Malfoy. I’ve wanked raw for weeks now over you and I’m sick and tired of waiting and I don’t want it to be just bloody _hands_. Let’s get on now.” 

“That’s just what I’m saying, Harry.” Draco nodded. He grinned widely, a charmingly fiendish look for him. “Which is exactly why we will find them, somehow. You’re not the fucking Saviour for nothing.” 

“Huh,” Harry scoffed gently, re-linking their elbows. “Glad you think so.” 

“Pfft.” Draco pinched Harry’s arse, grinning. “Well, come on then, Hero. Save us, will you?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Please do! That's what I've been saying, Potter!” 

“Oh, shut it," Harry snorted. "You're ridiculous. Let’s go. Keep the eye on the old snitch, alright.” 

“Right-oh. Except snitch would be easier to find.” Draco thumbed back over his shoulder. "Quidditch shop, right there." 

"Shut it!" 

"Fine, fine. No need to shout at me." 

"Move, then." 

They gathered themselves together and marched off, mostly avoiding the really uneven cobbles. It took them only a moment’s traverse to round the corner past Gringotts. There were a few people and various other Beings in gaggles about the entrance of that, too, but not so much traffic on their side of the Alley. The wider area where many of the stalls lived spread out before them as they trundled on. 

He and Draco paused briefly by mutual unspoken consent, staring hopefully about the Carkett Market, seeking out a hint of the proper direction, or maybe a conveniently large signboard reading 'Muggle Condoms! On Offer Here!'

But most of the stalls were shuttered and the tents and carts locked down for the night. There was only the Pie Witch and the Absent Antiquarian open for business this late at night. The usual hubub had long faded away with the last of the daylight and even the Pie Witch was about the business of rolling down her shutters. The Antiquarian quietly passed them by but a moment later, followed by his little crup and nodding a silent 'good evening'.

Grateful for the dim surroundings, Harry discreetly took the opportunity to reach down under the cover of his short over-cloak and adjust his silly cock farther to the right, hoping to coax it into laying flat against his chafing pubes. 

Merlin, but these ‘going out for a pull down the pub’ trousers he’d foolishly donned much earlier in the evening were bloody _constricting_. 

"Alright there, Harry?" Draco asked curiously, leaning in close. "You look peeved." 

“I am! Been gasping, I said. For ages, I said,” Harry grumbled. “Need to shag. Need to shag _you_ , damn it. Definitely will need more than one condom. Just saying, Draco. Also, they're just called condoms, alright? There's no bloody accent in the beginning. Now, where to next? Any brilliant ideas?” 

“Oh? You can’t just re-use the same one?” Draco enquired idly. “Hmm. Odd. Well, then. Back to Diagon, I suppose. There's nothing here, clearly.” 

A short trot had them there again. Draco gestured at the multitude of lamp posts, more of them flaring high and setting off multiple reflections across the bow windows and mullions.

“Here we are. Hmm. Seems wasteful, though. About the condoms. Can the Muggles not simply wash them out and pin them up to dry? Perhaps a good boil in silver cauldon might do it?” 

“No!" Harry boggled mentally at the very idea of boiling a Muggle rubber and then blithely attempting to re-use it. "They cannot! Don’t be an idiot, Draco! Oh--fuck!”

Out of the blue, a slip of the heel and a sudden tipsy tilt had Harry’s companion going legless and nearly tumbling off the kerb. Harry snatched him from harm’s way at the last second. 

“Hey!” he exclaimed, clamping an arm around Draco’s waist. “Silly bugger! What, are you still hammered?”

“Leetle bit still,” Draco allowed, grinning sheepishly. “Maybe? Ogden’s is always the best for that. Packs a punch. And then comes back at you with another. When you’re not the least looking.” He steadied himself as Harry snorted. “Wasn’t really me, just now. Not bladdered, really. Was just a bit blinded, that’s all. All the new lamps they’ve put up along here, see? So bright along here, these days. Was it always so bright here, d’you remember? Before. When we were smaller?” 

“Never came, really, so.” Harry shrugged. “Wouldn’t know.” 

“Pity. You’d have liked it. I wish I’d known then; could’ve snuck you out to see. But...s’alright. Where to, now?” Draco wondered aloud. “Wheeze’s next? Seems likely.” 

“Don’t really think Wheeze’s really will have ‘em, sorry. Angelina’s not best pleased with George’s ideas right now. Says they’re a jokes shop, not, uh, ready for the adult market, whatever that is.” Harry shook his head to clear it, trying to make sense of the scene. “Running out of shops now. Not Eeylops, nooo. Only birds there, no rubbers. Fowl play, haha.” 

“Too true,” Draco said agreeably, laughing a bit at Harry’s terrible pun and apparently suddenly completely copacetic with just standing aimlessly on the alley, holding hands like silly buggers. “...Harry. Er.” He gave Harry’s fingers hand a little squeeze. 

“Yeah.” Harry grinned, calming down and oddly content despite his annoyingly unruly cock and bollocks. He did like it very much when Draco called him ‘Harry’ and not ‘Potter’, same as he’d done earlier, in the Leaky’s loo. He was rather hoping that trend might continue, especially as they would be getting fast-and-loose with each other any time now. 

“Okay. Not Florian’s obviously. Not the stalls. They’re mostly closed anyway.” 

“Nope. I see that.” Draco nodded, cocking his chin at them. “Lateish. Too late.” 

“Flourish & Blott’s?” Harry wondered aloud. “Huh, unlikely,” he said, shaking his head over it. “And not Scribner’s either. Paper, not rubber, at them.” 

“That shan’t do at’all, no.” 

Not every shop was lit up in the but there were still quite a few open, down this end. It was that time of evening when the serious shoppers had concluded their business, the family types were all safe home and eating their suppers, preparatory to tucking up their wee tykes snug in beds, and the younger clubbing set was still primping and flooing each other, having not yet ventured out for the night. So only the really determined ones were out and about and generally they were all a bit tetchy about it. 

“Oi, shift, Potter.” Draco abruptly danced sideways in reverse, taking Harry with him. “This lovely Witch here is trying to pass 'round us.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Harry murmured, nodding at the lady and smiling vaguely after her. Then he lit up, struck by a revelation, right there in the street. 

“Oi, here we go! It’s Wiseacre’s down there. Now, they might have--” 

“No! Merlin!” Draco looked shocked to the core. “Are you mad, Harry? You think Wiseacre’s sells Muggle con-doms?”

“--something like, though?” Harry trailed off, wide-eyed at Draco’s abrupt turn into patent fury. “Er, what?” 

“Is this a fucking joke to you?” Draco snorted. He gripped Harry’s bicep and steered them unceremoniously and awkwardly backwards into a convenient alcove by a beauty shop. He looked positively infuriated. “You bastard!” 

“Wait--why?” Harry demanding, attempting to shake off Draco’s hand. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“They sell shite for making your own potions, Potter, not anything Mugglely-wuggly-snuggly for your bits. Feathers, ferns, fiddlesticks. Bugger you to Hades, you--you are joking me, aren’t you? Idiot. Nasty mean Potter. Tell you what, though? I’ve had enough now.” 

“Er, what? Hey!” 

“Pah! I am done, so done. With this. This, this is stupid.”

Draco set his palms on Harry’s shoulders and pressed him hard up against the crumby brick-and-mortar of what appeared to be Madame Primpernelle’s. Harry stared up at him, bewildered at the sudden change of mood. 

“We could have gotten off five times now already if we weren’t dashing like idiots up and down Diagon Alley. Seems to me you’re not taking this quest seriously enough.” 

“I am, too!”

“Huh!” Draco scoffed, leaning in so their noses bumped and glaring cross-eyed at Harry. “Do I have to remind you yet again? I have a cock. Is hard, like diamonds. It hurts, Harry,” he whinged, going cross-eyed as he came too close and tried to stare down his nose. “For you. Only you. So,” he went on, drawing back and assuming a much more reasonable tone. “Problem is. Need to shag, need to shag you in particular, and need you to stop faffing around. Let’s change this up, shall we? We’ll go to Lunnon. Lunnon’s where con-doms are and con-doms we need.” He grinned diabolically, eyes wild, his hair all ruffled up from where he’d dragged an impatient hand through it. “But I’ll snog you first, see. Like this. For good luck.” 

“Drac--oooh!”

Roundly ignoring Harry’s half-hearted protest, Draco lowered his chin and angled his head, just so setting his parted lips against Harry’s before Harry could make further attempts conveying his utter commitment to their proposed shagging session. 

Harry shut it, promptly, knowing both ‘a lost cause’ and ‘a good thing’ when he saw them--and feeling pretty damned annoyed with himself anyway. Diagon had really not been the best idea; Draco was spot on about that. 

The resultant snog was a hard one: wet, toothy and sloppy, or started out that way, at least until Harry collected himself and responded in kind. 

“Fuck you, fuck you very much, ohhh, Harry, so good.” Draco groaned his approval, gripping Harry’s arse tightly. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” 

“Oh! Mmph!” Harry grunted, nipping at Draco’s swollen lower lip. He’d gone up on tip-toes and slipped a firm hand round Draco’s nape so as to haul him closer. He wrenched his face back far enough to give Draco a disgusted eye-roll. “You fucking stupid wanker!” he scowled, his pulse pounding in his ears and echoing the insistent throb in his cock. “You call me suspicious, do you? Well, fuck right off, you fucker. Fucking want you, fucking want you sooo bad! Don’t dare say I don’t!” 

“Fucking well right, Harry; that’s it,” Draco breathed. He frantically groped his way around Harry’s flies, fingers fumbling as he tried to undo them. “Curses! Can get our ends away right here, right now, this minute. Let me just get a hand on you, git.” 

“ **Harrrumph**!”

They were interrupted by a hissing, ominous, terrible sound like the crack of a whip. A rend in the fabric of Nature Itself. 

“You there! Young men! Stop that at once!”

“Fuck!” Draco exclaimed, springing back as best as he could from Harry and throwing his hands up in the air. “Not doin’ anything, I swear it to Merlin!” 

“Absolutely not!” Harry yelped, giving Draco a good shove for good measure. “Not me either!” 

“This. Is my _shop,_ sirrahs.” 

Madame Primpernelle was a tall, willowy person who liked to always wear purple; she was well known up and down Diagon for ‘having strong opinions’. 

“Not outside _my_ shop, you don’t! Cease this behaviour at once, you young rascals!” 

She had a singularly strident voice, amazing makeup and an updo that defied all constraints of gravity. She was also pointing her wand at them in a way that clearly indicated business. 

“But we weren’t even," Draco gargled, visibly strangling on his excuses, “never even got that far--Merlin, where did you even _come_ from?” 

“For the love of magick!” Harry hissed, elbowing Draco hard in the ribs as he fumbled to drag his gaping open robes across his front to cover up what he sincerely hoped was not actual public indecency. “We're sorry!” 

“Oops--so very sorry, yes! Right, that!” Draco piped up, finally getting with the programme. “Too right!” 

“Oh, really?” Madame tapped the toe of one stupendously high heel impatiently, tutting. “You two? You’re stone trollied, is what, and you are not getting up to that sort of nonsense on my property. Even if you are Harry Potter! **Sobrietus**!” 

For the eternal space of about thirty seconds there existed a gap in Harry’s consciousness--and presumably Draco’s as well--as Harry shuddered into an alternate and highly uncomfortable dimension of experience and Draco went stock-still like a statue and the colour of blancmange. Then Draco burst out coughing uncontrollably and Harry only had wind in him returned sufficient to utter a series of incoherent noises: 

“Gack! Gurgh. Ow!” 

Draco whimpered wordlessly, slipping an arm round Harry, slumping into him and shaking his pale head in mute commiseration. 

“Was that--was that even necessary, ma’am?” Harry stuttered, doing his damnedest to stare the horrid person down. “I mean, we weren’t even--we hadn't.”

“Well, yes.” Madame snorted in disapproval. “You cannot say as you didn’t deserve that, Mr Potter. Even heroes have to show some propriety.”

“But we weren’t actually going to--” Harry spluttered, feeling a bit as though every single cell in his body had been meticulously wrung out to dry and ruthlessly rid of all foreign substances, but especially the Ogden’s he and Draco had been imbibing so freely. "Not here, at least."

“Yes, you were,” Madame retorted instantly. “Your flies are clearly unfastened, that was a most compromising position, and it’s not sound, shagging while you're pissed to the gills, boys. Hie yourselves back to the Leaky and speak to old Tom. He’ll rent you two a room, I’m sure of it.” Madame sniffed her disdain. “Anything to get you off the streets.” 

“But that’s--no--we weren’t on the streets!”

“Yes, you were,” Madame snapped back, unequivocally. “Or propped on my shop wall, rather. Same difference.” 

“Yes, but, here’s the thing.” Draco dove into the fray with a will and a wily gleam in his eye. “Pardon us and also may I just say thank you, Madame. You're totally correct, we shouldn't ever shag inebriated--no one should!--but that’s _not_ the actual problem we have here. Tom will hire us out a room for the asking but he’s--” 

“He’s got no rubbers,” Harry said, blinking and taking deep breaths. “Ah! Hah! And we need them. The condoms.” 

“' _He’s got no rubbers_?' Those Muggle tubes, you mean?” 

Madame looked as if she were about to burst out into a fit of raucously unseemly laughter. 

“You two are Wizards--or have you forgotten? Whatever would you need those wibbly-wobbly Muggle tubes for? There's perfectly good spells for that abounding. Have been for centuries, doubtless.” 

“Ahhh…well. Now.” Draco rocked back on his heels, looking discomfited. “That’s a bit...personal.” 

“Yes. Yes, it is, Madame; terribly personal,” Harry added sternly. “Suffice to say we are in need. Would you happen to know where we might procure some on Diagon, though?” He blinked his famous green eyes at her and casually brushed his fringe away from his scar, earning an appreciative glance from Draco. “Since you must know the shops around here so very well? Surely there's some--” 

“Humph!” Madame snorted. “Not bleeding likely! It’s all Wizarding establishments here, don’t you know? Have you thought about going into the City?” 

“Um, no,” Draco said calmly. “We were quite legless just a moment ago. Didn’t think it was safe, see? The Ministry would frown down upon us, all that. Aurors, don’t you know. Never a good thing, Aurors in the City.” 

“Hmmm, yes, I take your point,” Madame nodded. She goggled at them for a moment, in the manner of a curious crup, and sniffed again the air about them, quite loudly. “Hmm. Still smell a bit sozzled, too. Well...I might suggest the Apothecary but it’s shut now. Carey CawWeather’s not one for staying late, even on a weekend. Perhaps down Knockturn way. All manner of odd items to be found down there. Seeing as you might be not aware, young Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter. I do believe there was a shop by the name of Knob's that might have what you're looking for.” 

She said that last quite pointedly, smirking officiously, as if Draco and Harry were but utter babes in the woods and presumed to have no clue as what was what. 

“Ta, then,” Harry said, forcing a smile. He was irate. Brassed off, even. Full-on sudden sobriety was not a particularly welcome experience; he much preferred the thought of being able to blame shagging Malfoy on being bladdered.

Well...no. Harry frowned at himself. He didn’t, but it would’ve been an excuse to give to Hermione if they never actually managed to find the blasted condoms. In any event…he glared at Madame Primpernelle. But terribly politely. Much the same as he would've glared at Aunt Marge. 

“Er. Yes. Thanks for the tip. We’ll try there next.” 

“Yes,” Draco added, very precisely. “Brilliant thought.” He was still a bit green around the edges but had stopped lurching. “A capital plan.” He turned to Harry, jerking his just-starting-to-stubble chin in the direction of Knockturn. “Ahem. Shall we?” 

“Yes, yes,” Harry said promptly and helped himself to Draco’s elbow, intent on getting as far away from Primpernelle as possible. “This way.” 

They fell moodily silent, walking quickly and dodging a few more late-evening shoppers, running their last minute errands, and stayed that way till they turned the corner into Knockturn. 

“Hsst!” 

Draco yanked Harry into yet another alcove. Harry, startled, looked about him. He’d not realized the Wizarding shopping district had quite so many discreet nooks and crannies and snugs but why not? He shrugged, settling his back against the rough brick wall as Draco shoved him, not too gently, his grip tight about Harry’s biceps. 

“What _was_ that, back there?” Draco demanded. “You know we’re not going to find con-doms on Knockturn, Potter! Why did you even go along with that cockamamie idea? We’re wasting time when we could be shagging already!”

“Oh, but--”

“But nothing! We’re bloody stone cold-nay, frigidly!-fucking sober now, thanks to that interfering bint--and what was _she_ , the Sobrietus Police? Merlin! But anyway, Harry, why aren’t we already in Muggle London? Don’t you want to fuck me now we’re not pissed, Potter?”

“Shut it!” Harry cut in fiercely. “It’s not that, alright? It’s just I was flustered and she’s quite overbearing, Primpernelle is.” 

“Well?” Draco’s face screwed into an impatient scowl. “Then let’s be off, alright? I’m not getting any drunker just standing here and I’m certainly not getting my end away. Back to the Leaky and out to Charing. Or we can just Apparate from here, I don’t care.” 

“Fine,” Harry said, squinting his discontent. “Good. Splendid. But! How do I even know it’s me you want to shag and not just you wanting to get your leg over anything sentient and breathing now you’re sober? I’m not your fucking warm body, Malfoy. I shan’t be used.” 

“No more than I will! Merlin! I’m no slag!” 

Draco huffed an enormous sigh, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, so that the shine of their translucence showed up startlingly well in the sconce lights of Knockturn. 

“You,” he bit out succinctly, “are the worst possible sort of idiot. You are a willful idiot, Potter. You routinely come to the absolute bloody _most_ incorrect conclusion and then fly with it and then I have to waste my precious time explaining to you that your bum is a fucking artwork and I’ve been gagging after it--and you--for more fecking years that I really want to admit.”

“Artwork?” Harry echoed, starting to grin. “Oh, I rather like the sound of that.” 

“Yes. Michelangelo, in fact. You have the arsecheeks of that _David_ sculpture--very classical, quite shapely, I’d rather like to bite them fairly soon. So!” Draco rolled his eyes again, lips twitching, and promptly attached himself to Harry’s arm. “With that settled, Harry, may we begin retracing our steps now, have a quick pint for courage and then go find a bloody Muggle apothecary? I think I need more alcohol at this point anyway.”

Without waiting for a by-your-leave, he promptly escorted Harry out of the alcove and onto Diagon proper again, setting a rapid gait up it. 

“Hoo-hoo, boys!” A voice called out, quite stridently, as they jog-trotted past Amanuensis Quills and Potage’s. “Hoo-hoo! Cooee! Hold up, I say! Over here, please!” 

“What?”

Harry came to a hard stop, Draco right along with him, and they both turned this way and that, looking about for who had hailed them, but there was no one on the Alley to be seen except old Madame Malkin, busily packing it up for the night.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry. Did you you just--”

“Yes,” Madame replied, beckoning furiously. “I did. Come along over here, will you please? Spit-spot, there’s my lads. My, how you’ve grown, young Mr Potter--and you too, Mr Malfoy. Been an age, hasn’t it?” 

“Ah--er, no--oh!”

Draco went along because Harry dragged him, but he was clearly puzzled and just as clearly impatient to be off.

“Ma’am, a good evening to you,” he managed kindly enough, when they fetched up at Madame’s stoop. "Yes, it's been an age. Hasn't it?" A charmed broom was giving it a last whisking. “Looking very well, if I may say.” 

“Yes,” Harry agreed, nodding. “You are. Positively smashing. But, did you need assistance, Madame Malkin? Because we’re not really in the market right now for new robes.”

“Oh, but I hear you are, Mr Potter,” Madame interrupted him cheerily, ushering them fully into her shop. “And I can accommodate you, as it happens. Right this way, please, and have a seat just over there. I’ll be but a moment, I’m sure.” 

The door to the shop had promptly shut tight right behind them as they entered and Madame swept herself off behind a rather luxurious velvet curtain that was clearly in place to hide the back of her shop. 

“Um,” Harry said, plumping his Michelangelo bum down on Madame’s visitors’ settee for want of anything better to do. “I’m really sorry, Draco, but she was--”

“Herself,” Draco nodded ruefully, seating himself by Harry with a sigh. “Yes, I know; I was right there. No help for it now, I suppose. Er--how late are those Muggle shops open?” 

“All night, no fear,” Harry replied reassuringly, giving Draco’s kneecap a pat. He looked about him, recalling the first time he’d ever been in Malkin’s and then turned his eyes back to Draco with a considering gleam. “Hmm. Takes me back, this does. Do you know what the first thing you ever said to me was? Do you remember?” 

“Ah...something about brooms, I think,” Draco mumbled, after a long moment. He glanced away, pointedly transferring his gaze to the velvet curtain, which was rippling intriguingly, and emitting various muffled sounds of crashing and some half-heard scraps of maidenly swearing. “And er, Houses. Why do you ask?”

“I thought you were a bit of an arse, you know,” Harry remarked, casually catching up one of Draco’s slim hands and clasping it warmly. “Blathering on about your father and Quidditch--and then Hagrid. You said some mean-spirited things about him. Didn't much care for you then!” 

“Yes, well,” Draco said softly, looking down at their hands and tightening his fingers about Harry’s. “I wasn’t really minding much, what I was saying. I was looking at your eyes. I’d never seen a green like that.” 

“Oh really?” Harry snorted. “I do remember you gawking at me. I thought it was my scar.” 

“Didn't even notice it, not then,” Draco admitted, dropping his voice to a confiding murmur and bumping shoulders. “I was too busy trying to impress you, I think. Nearly died of embarrassment after, on the train.” He blinked, meeting Harry’s wide-eyed stare frankly. “Oh? Is that why you hated me, so soon? What I said about Professor Hagrid, whatever it was? I’d heard it direct from Father--”

“I know,” Harry said, smiling. “Later on, I realized it. Much later, believe me, but I did get there, eventually.” 

“I said quite a lot of things, over the years,” Draco agreed, a sad sort of resignation touching his face--still narrow, still pale, still pointy, still fascinating. “Same as he did. Most of them rude. Some of them downright horrid.” 

“You did,” Harry nodded fervently. “Nasty wanker, you were. But not quite as horrid as I thought you were, not really. You did warn us--you did save me.” 

“Wish I’d not--well.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Harry pressed a kiss against the pulse flickering in Draco’s delectable throat, rapidly inching his bum over on the settee so that he was nearly set upon the man’s lap. “We were both arses, back then. But now--now I just want yours, or least my cock in it,” he whispered, nibbling at the plump earlobe he found so conveniently next to his lips. “Or yours in mine; I’m agreeable.” 

“Fuck. Me.” Draco closed his eyes,clenching his jaw, a faint flush visibly rising above his open collar. “Merlin, Harry,” he moaned tightly. “Don’t be cruel, I beg you.” 

“A-hah!” A triumphant exclamation issued from behind the curtain, startling them both into propriety. Draco immediately fussed with his light evening robe, pointedly arranging it across his thighs and the telltale swell of his trousers. “I knew it! Right where I left them, back in ‘99!”

"Ah!" Harry jumped, bounced on the hard cushions and propelled himself sideways and away from Draco posthaste. “Merlin, but she startled me!” 

“Boys, boys, boys,” Madame crowed, emerging at last and bearing a cellophane-wrapped packet, which she waved about before their astonished faces. “Never let it be said that I, Madame Malkin of Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, am ever to be found unprepared when fashionable Wizards are in need! Here you are, then. That’ll be one galleon, two knuts, please, as they’re vintage. These more modern ones aren’t nearly as sturdy and, mind you, I’m not about to offer my clientele an inferior rubber!” 

“What--what is thi--?” Harry gasped as the packet came sailing through the air at him. “Condoms!?” He caught it neatly, snatching it up just before Draco would’ve grabbed it. “Merlin, Madame, these are--this is--since when do _you_ offer Muggle--”

“Con-doms?” Draco squawked, crowding Harry as he peered and poked at the package. Despite its stated age, it was pristine, and clearly under some sort of stasis Charm. Inwardly Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief. “In a robes shop? You sell these to people--to regular Wizards? On the regular?”

“I do,” Madame beamed with great satisfaction--and no small amount of smug. “No well-dressed Wizard should ever be without some form of protection and for some, these are what suits. They are robes, of a sort, don’t you agree? Just intended for a very particular part of your person, that’s all. And I do pride myself on a thorough job of keeping Wizarding Britain decked to the nines--there is Fashion to be considered! Now, it’s getting late, boys, so if you’ll just-” she made shooing motions--”pay me my fee and run along now. Two galleons and a knut, please.” 

“Oh, but you said _one_ galleon and a knut earlie--ah! You know what, never mind! Yes, please, do let me,” Draco said fervently, rising up of his cushion and dragging out his purse and whipping out three whole galleons all in one swift motion. He promptly pressed them into Madam’s extended palm with a wolfish grin--and a not-so-subtle wink. “For your trouble, Madam Malkin. You’ve no idea exactly how tremendously grateful we are you flagged us down, just now.” He shuddered exaggeratedly. “Absolutely. No. Idea.” 

“Too right,” Harry was quick to agree, springing to his feet and edging round the settee. “You’re an angel, Madame. Although I’ve no idea how you even knew that we--” 

“Oh, as to that,” Madame chirped, tucking away her fee. She followed along close behind them, ushering them on their way to the shop door. The ‘Welcome!’ sign whisked itself over to ‘Closed!’ as they approached it. 

“That was dear Primpy. Primpy’s voice carries, don't you know. And _I’m_ no fool; can stick a wand in a cauldron still, even now, at my age--if you catch my drift? I know very well what you young folks get up to. Ah, youth, sweet youth,” she sighed, all at once pausing and blinking off into the far distance, dewy-eyed and dabbing daintily at her lashes with the edge of her ruched apron. “How I do miss it-- **not**! Well, off you go then, lads! Enjoy!” 

With a final cheery wave, the door to Malkin’s slammed shut behind them, the resultant billow of fabric dye, fresh ironing and starch-scented air ineffably wafting them both forward. They hastily set a goodly pace back up in the Alley. 

“So, Harry? Did what I think just happened, happen?” Draco asked breathlessly after a long minute of heedless rushing back the way they'd come. He’d stashed away his coin purse but then just as quickly took it out again with a slightly manic grin. He shook it so it jangled, holding it up for Harry to see. “Because-- _if it did,_ Leaky’s got rooms to let, Harry, and it’s just right up there. Step lively! This way! The night is young yet and so are we!” 

“It is--and it did!” Harry cackled, dashing to catch up to his would-be lover. “Race you?” 

“You’re on! Last one there has to wear the silly thing,” Draco threw over his shoulder, already a full length in the lead, damn his long legs. “Imagine! Bloody well wrapping your willy in Muggle Spellotape or something--bah! When we’re both Wizards and could just use the bloody Charm for it. Well--better you than me, Harry--better you than me!”

“Oi! Bugger you, Malfoy!” Harry scowled, eating Draco’s dust. “Unfair! I’m a Wizard too, you know! Why does it have to be _me_?” 

“No matter,” Draco grinned, slowing down just enough to let Harry catch up and slinging his arm ‘round his waist casually as they shot past Eeylops. “It really doesn’t--not always. I’m easy.” He leant in, just enough to give Harry’s earlobe a hot lick as they trotted on. “For you, at least.”

“Oh really?” Harry rolled his eyes disbelievingly. “You’re just saying this now? What? To make me happy?” 

“Certainly! You do what I’ve been hoping you might do to me first and, believe me, we’ll both be very happy, I’m sure,” Draco replied earnestly. “Seriously, Harry. You may do anything else you might desire after that, I promise you. Slytherin’s honour. Even have _me_ don the blighty condom.”

“Hmmm,” Harry hummed disbelievingly, slouching into Draco’s side and matching steps as they drew up to the Leaky’s entrance. “When I see it, I’ll believe it. Meh. Why is it _I’m_ always the one chosen?” 

“Because you’re a hero, Harry,” Draco replied promptly, grabbing hold of the doorknob and gallantly bowing Harry through. “ _My_ hero, in particular. I should think that’d be obvious.”

“Smooth talker,” Harry muttered, peering about for Tom’s grizzled old figure. 

“Smooth ride is more like it,” Draco hissed back, sighting him. “Oi, Tom! Over here, man!”

“So, now what?” Harry shrugged, allowing himself to be shoved slightly behind Draco as the old pub keeper bustled towards them, sporting a toothy grin. “Draco?” 

“Evening, young Malfoy!” Tom said cheerily, wiping his hands on a grimy bar towel. “Back again so soon, are you? And how might I be of service, then? You young fellows ready for a rest now? All tuckered out by your rushing about?” 

“Wait! How does Tom know--” Harry began, but Draco flapped his hands at him, shooing him off.

“Go on with you, Harry; up the stairs. Should be last door on the left. Reserved it earlier, just in case,” he added, when Harry sent him a puzzled frown. “Already keyed to us, I’d think. I’ll just be a moment; take care of Tom here. You go and set about mentally preparing yourself for the shag of a lifetime.” 

“It’s certainly been exciting so far,” Harry snorted softly, “Can’t wait to see what’s next.” 

He paused, just ‘round the bend in the windy old wooden stairwell, just out of sight of Draco and Tom but not out of earshot, and listened, curious, as the two fell into a hushed and rapid conversation below him. 

“Heard you was out, rushing all up and down the Alley, looking for them Muggle rubbers, young Malfoy,” Tom remarked. “Pity, that.” 

“Er, yes, why?” Draco asked, sounding distracted. “You said ten Galleons for the full night, plus breakfast laid on, yes? Here you are. Paid in full.”

Harry heard the clank of coins stacking themselves up, presumably in Tom’s grubby hand. 

“ _Why_?” Tom echoed, sounding innocent as a newborn mooncalf. “Because you already had ‘em, you know. In your room. No cause to go off and hunt high and low for more. Pity ‘bout that, lad. Wasting your time and all.”

Harry could practically hear Draco’s jaw drop in the sudden silence following Tom’s insouciant comment.

“Oh, for the love of fucking Merlin!’ he breathed, hand gripping hard on the balustre. “Bloody--!” He closed his eyes in sympathy, wincing as he imagined the look on Draco’s lean face. “Oh, please don’t hex Tom, Malfoy. Just--please don’t!” 

“Y-You mean to say, Tom, you had them all along?” Draco demanded, so tightly his teeth snapped. “ _All along_?! And you let us go off, refusing to sell me--!”

“They’re complimentary, young man,” Tom interrupted hastily, sounding quite offended. “There was no refusing going on! On the house, as they say. I don’t sell ‘em per se, no I don’t. All in the upcharge, you know--when you’ve the room to let for the whole night. Even got me up a discreet sign in the loo, telling all you young silly blighters how to get ‘em on without bursting them. All the rage now, the Muggle rubbers. Every young Wizard seems to be hankering like mad after them. Must stay with the times, _I_ say. Good for business.” 

“I--can’t,” Draco growled, clearly flummoxed. “I can _not_! I don’t even-- **what**? ‘All the rage’?” 

“Oh yes,” Tom said, and Harry’s ears caught the faint squeaking sound of what could only be Draco, grinding his perfect white teeth. “‘Chemist next door, he keeps me in them. Gets off some Muggle emporium called Sainsbury's, I believe. Delivered fresh daily, he tells me.”

“...Fine. Er, ah. Thank you, I’m fairly certain we’ll be fine,” Draco continued levelly. “Brilliant. I think that’ll be quite all, Tom. Good night.” 

“Eh, good night then, young Malfoy,” Tom said. “Cheers!”

“Cheers.” 

Harry heard Draco’s sour huff and the clatter of his boot heels across the ancient flooring. 

“Shite!” 

He shot up the last of the steps as if Filch himself were on his heels and made the room by mere seconds before Draco burst in, red of face and muttering grimly.

“Bloody--fucking--irksome--old--man--Harry!”

“I’ll wear it. The condom,” Harry announced loudly, fishing the packet out his pocket. He drew his wand out and summarily Vanished Draco’s garb. And his own, leaving them both starkers and staring at one another. 

“...Er. Okay?” he faltered, when Draco just stood there, gawping, and gone totally silent, all the colour vanishing from his cheeks right along with his pants, it seemed. “Draco? That’s what you wanted, right? Isn’t it?” 

“Yes!” Draco howled, and leapt forward, carrying Harry back by main force and them both down on the wide bed that graced what must be the Leaky’s best room-to-let. “Oh fuck, oh Salazar, oh Harry--yes!” 

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, specs askew. “Eager, are we?” 

“Bloody hell, yes, I’m eager,” Draco nodded furiously, his hair flopping into his eyes. He squinted down at Harry, brow furrowing. “Aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Harry beamed. “I am, really. Really very, I am. Now, shall we, um, carry on?” He felt about for the condom packet, which had miraculously managed to land on the bed. “I’ll just stick one of these on my--ah--bits, and then we can finally, _finally_ get on with--”

“Wait,” Draco said peremptorily. “Stop! Aren’t there instructions or something? A guide? Tom mentioned something posted in the loo, just now.” 

“Yes.” Harry flushed. “Well, as it happens, I have _some_ experience. With the rubbers, I mean.” 

“You what? How dare you!” Draco looked instantly wounded, drawing back and scowling. He stuck out an accusing forefinger at Harry, nearly poking him in the one eye. “You said you’d not ever--you liar! You filthy liar, Potter! And here I was, apologizing for wanting decent lube for a wank!” 

“Shut up!” Harry ordered. “It was Hermione, alright? She made me, er, practise, you know? In case I ever--we ever--Draco, it’s nothing like what you’re thinking. Bloody hell!” 

“Oh.” Draco considered this, cocking his chin this way and that and eyeing Harry carefully. “Right. That’s a bit typical of Hermione, yes. Very well. Do go on--but go slow, please!” 

“Why?” Harry asked, ripping off the top of one of the little envelopes and proceeding competently enough to do the job of en-robing his perky pecker in a Muggle sperm-containment tube. “It’s not that difficult, really. See?” 

“Maybe not,” Draco allowed, nodding wisely, “but I wanted to watch, all the same. I did promise, remember? Later. After you, Harry. Besides, it's rather hot.” 

“So you did,” Harry murmured throatily, a sultry glint in his eyes. He laid back as invitingly as he could manage, his willy sticking up proudly in all its rubber-sheathed glory and fully exposed. “Huh.Think I’m all ready here--Oi! Mind your teeth!” he yelped when Draco took a deep breath and dove straight in. “Fuuuuck! Ngh-urrrp! Whooo-wee, ooooh!”

Draco made a noise like a dying cow in reply. But it was a happy noise and Harry appreciated it. Despite all the prior kerfuffle, they then had themselves a truly scrumptious time with all the condoms, even the vintage ones, which were rainbow-hued and flavoured cherry. 

A topping evening, one might say.  
  


**Author's Note:**

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